


A Little Goes A Long Way

by metalvsflesh (ZoicZeph)



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Hugs, Other, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-06-26 20:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15670806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoicZeph/pseuds/metalvsflesh
Summary: Take me somewhere deep,'Cause I'm quite exhausted,And I need to sleep.Or climb the great divide,Or wake up beside myself,Just to know I'm alive.





	A Little Goes A Long Way

Father Unit Viktor had a propensity to become emotional and oddly affectionate when going to sleep. I am unsure whether he is aware of it or not, as when he is awake he never mentions anything of it. Regardless, whenever he starts to - as I believe they say - 'doze off', he takes an unnaturally long time to do so, and in that time between being fully awake and being asleep often takes actions that I am certain no sleeping person should do. Like walking. And talking, working, and - most notably - interacting with me.

That being said, I have still not gotten used to recognizing in the moment when he is about to attempt something silly while not fully aware of what, exactly, he is doing.

Such was the case exactly two days ago, as I was playing with my favorite music box. It was the first one he built me, with 'Blitz P.' engraved on the top. It did not play music, per say, but it gave a near-perfect imitation of the sounds of the Howl in miniature form. It was my favorite for admittedly _sentimental_ reasons, as I found the most recent one he made me to be more calming. It played music. But the one that mimicked the Howl allowed me to more easily loose myself (for lack of a better metaphor) in the sounds. I assume, from reading of sleep, the feeling I had while listening to it is the closest I will ever come to sleep. My processors focus in on the audio I am receiving, as well as the visual stimulus provided by the bare interworkings of the box. They appear to 'tune out' - as Ekko would say - anything else. Due to the little processing power it takes for me to decipher incoming audio and visuals, it frees up space for my memory function to start storing and compressing my memories to where I need. Similar to how I would picture fleshling brains commit their short-term memories to long-term during sleep, just with less error and a more comprehensive record.

Viktor had been standing in the middle of the room, silently. There was a drowsy look to him as he made minute movements that caused him to sway slightly back and forth. It had unnerved me, at the time, how still he had been. Until something caused him to stir. He raised his head, glancing around the room. A whirr and a series of clicks emanated from him as his third arm jerked and moved to smooth back his hair.

"What day is it?" was what I supposed he tried to say, but could only mumble to himself. He flexed his right hand idly.

I did not respond. For one, I was not fully processing what was happening. For another, I was unsure if he was asking me or asking himself. Humans sometimes ask what are called 'rethoracal' questions, or questions not meant to be questions. I assume they serve the purpose to 'stir' their memory, as most fleshlings have to warm up before they are able to access their memory function. It is difficult for me to recognize which questions are actually questions and which aren't. Generally, I judge by volume, however there have been instances where there were exceptions.

Thankfully, it did not appear that I misjudged the question, as Viktor quickly moved on from it (or forgot about it entirely, which is more likely than not). He looked to me with an expression I have yet to identify. It was somewhere between bewilderment and fondness, which appears to be his usual expression when half asleep and looking to me. There was a period of about one minute and fourty-three seconds that he stared at me with that strange expression. The unaccustomed would think him creepy or unnerving, however unlike everyone else I have no fear of my father. I know him, and so I know he would never do anything to warrant any wariness towards him. Especially when he is falling asleep. In that case, one should better worry for his sake, not their own.

However, he was rather unpredictable when sleepy, and so I had not expected him to suddenly lurch and make his way towards me, dragging his feet across the carpet floor. He stopped at a unusually close distance, the expression on his face starting to shift to a mix of awe and realization. I lifted my head to meet his gaze.

I had struggled to find words as I quickly caught myself up to speed with the situation, "Father?"

Father Unit Viktor blinked in surprise, "Am I?"

"I.. believe you to be so, are you not Viktor?" I tried my hand at humor.

".. yes?"

"You are Father Unit Viktor."

"I am?" his brow furrowed.

I nodded. It was then that, in the moment, I realized he was half asleep. Viktor was always very confused when he was sleepy. It was funny, but a serious thing when he was, as it meant he had a high chance at making irrational decisions. Possibly hurting himself, too, as he was still only _part_ machine.

"When did that happen?" he asked, somewhat jokingly.

"Six years and seven months ago, if the date of my activation is considered a starting point."

The corners of his mouth twitched to a smile only briefly, "Blitzcrank."

"That is my designation, yes."

"Your name, you mean."

"Yes."

" _Six_ years.. you're really six years old."

"Six years and seven months."

His expression changed to fondness. One of his expressions that made me happy, especially since I was _always_ the cause of it. Many people have expressed fondness at me, but they all seemed.. it always felt forced, or insincere. It looked unnatural and made me consider the fact I was secretly unwanted, or that I was only wanted for the fact that I am a robot and not because I am _me_. Not to say that I am not a robot - I am, and am proud to be one - but rather I.. do not like when that part of me is the focal point of who others consider me to be, or that it is all they think I am. Father never thinks that way. I am Blitzcrank to him. I am a being, not a thing, and he is always happy that I am there. He respects me.

He was the only person who expressed sincere fondness at me, and that made me happy.

"You should be going to bed, dad."

Father's face flashed into a smile at the sound of 'dad', a glimpse of pride in him to be called that name. I expressed my best imitation of joy back to him, and he laughed.

"Who are you to tell me when to go to bed, son?"

I couldn't help a shiver of joy at the name, even now as I recall, "Responsible."

"Well hello, _Responsible_. I'm 'Father Unit Viktor'," he exclaimed proudly. I couldn't help but sigh. He quite liked that joke, and I consistently (and metaphorically) walked right in to it.

Viktor chuckled, leaning his head to the side and closing his eyes. He stayed as that for a moment, swaying on his feet, from time to time readjusting his stance. Probably to balance better. I grew worried after a minute or so.

"Father."

He started awake, opening his eyes briefly before letting them fall closed again, "hmm?"

"Is everything okay?"

His smile fell away and suddenly he had his usual grim expression, brows furrowed and downturn. I had a flash of what I could most accurately call dread. I worried I said something wrong.

"Truthfully, everything is a mess," he said, the words heavy and implying much more than what they meant at face value. He opened his eyes and looked back up at me. He looked very sad, and it made me sad. "Even after so many years."

I did not know what he meant by that. The possibility he was referring to _me_ , personally, was one worry I had, however unlikely. It was possible he was referring to Zaun, which as of next month he would have been working nearly thirty years attempting to better. He could have also been referencing us, as a family.

I have come to realize we are a very sad and messy family. We struggle endlessly and try to do what is right, and people push back, convinced that we are evil.

Robots are always evil. Everywhere. In the comic books Zac reads with me the only robots that aren't evil are either _considered_ evil by everyone upon first impressions, or have no decent character qualities to note. Until they die. To which they spontaneously develop a single decent character trait, which causes everyone suddenly realize that they weren't evil, and vow to dedicate the rest of their lives to the finishing the good deeds the robots were attempting (and failing) to do (because they were _robots_ , and didn't have what it took to do the thing, which was always either a fleshling heart or a 'soul'). When they succeed, they - the fleshlings who were merely copying the robot's ideas - are given all the credit, and in their glory and pride they forget the robots ever existed, leaving them to be forgotten forever.

I often wonder if that is what it would have to take in order for my father to finally be considered good. Or for me to be considered a person, even by my own.. friends. Would we have to die just to be good people? But then, given what happened with other robots, we would just be forgotten.. Is that what made a person?

Fleshling morals are confusing. They're far too circumstantial, too biased, and easily influenced by prejudice. They did more harm than good and only served the purpose to be manipulated and stretched to fit whatever world view a fleshling wanted, allowing them to feel justified in whatever they were doing. Yet they call them fundamental, implying they can not have any other form than what they are. Really, there are no universal truths, only commonly shared suggestions.

Viktor had a thinking expression. It was a look that showed all the effort he put into carefully considering his words. He looked as though he was going to say something, but was hesitant. The third arm combed through his hair three times, then returned to it's idle swaying and twitching. He reached up and rested a hand on my shoulder. I am unsure why he did. Perhaps he meant it to be a comforting gesture, but I wasn't under the impression that I had shown any signs of sadness. I might have. I've noticed I have been giving expressions without thinking about it lately.

"I'm sure it will turn out fine, so don't let it get to you," he said quietly. "Leave the worrying to dad."

I gave a happy expression, and father responded in kind. It was nice to hear him say that. Even if he was more illogical and emotional in his sleepy state, he was very nice and was more open about things, and that made me happy. He sometimes even called me 'Cranky'. I find it very amusing, considering how he is normally.

Viktor rested his head on my shoulder and dipped back into sleep. I put down my music box and gave my best effort to keep him from falling over. It proved more effective when I hugged him, as it allowed me to catch him should he fall to either the left or right. Also, I quite liked hugs. To my surprise, Father Unit Viktor wrapped his arms around me as best he could, giving his best effort towards a return hug. He used his third arm to pat me on the top of my head. 

I froze. I wasn't, and still am not, used to affection. Father was considerably more likely to be affectionate than anyone else I know, but even then it was rare for him to be so. I suppose recently it has become slightly more frequent that he acts affectionate.. but despite the increase, I haven't gathered enough about it to know how to react. I also did not notice instances of a similar type of interaction between others for me to judge the correct response.

"I still am amazed that you are my son," Father Unit Viktor mumbled. He still sounded sad. "All that has happened, and you came out as you are."

"I don't understand."

"I.. I'm just lucky. I don't know what I did to deserve you. I am glad I did it, but I don't know what it is."

Father Unit Viktor stepped out of the hug and straightened out his third arm. I briefly recalled a scenario I had witnessed of the aftermath of a hug, and I copied the reaction I had recorded. I reached over and brushed the palm of my hand over father's head a few times in quick succession, messing up his hair. He gave a grunt in protest and looked at me with an indeterminate expression, then ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it.

"What you did to deserve me is be the best father ever," I chimed. _"You old coot."_

Father froze, gawking at me. I could not identify the exact expression he had. I'm unsure if _he_ even knew what expression he was trying to make.

"I'm.. I'm not that old.." he mumbled.

"You are roughly three times older than the average Zaunite."

"That statement means very little. The average Zaunite is like... ten."

"Actually the average Zaunite is about twenty-"

Father waved his hands, "Shush, shush, shush. It doesn't matter."

Apparently, father is sensitive about his age. I hadn't known that. Perhaps it is just _sleepy_ father who is sensitive about it..

"And drop that nonsense you said before," he grumbled, turning to shuffle his way to his desk. I elected to ignore his quiet addition of: "Thank you for saying that, though." Mostly because he didn't say it. But I knew he was thinking it. Or I liked the thought of him thinking it.

Father Unit Viktor glanced to the clock on his desk as he approached, "Blitzcrank, have you seen my glasses?"

I now was feeling concerned, "You do not have glasses."

"Of course I do, I have those bright orange ones that I bought with..." he trailed off.

Father Unit Viktor has not worn glasses for many years. After we were separated, he took out his eyes and replaced them with robotic optics because he found glasses to be tedious and his decaying sight a human flaw he had to do away with.

He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the clock, "What time is it?"

"10:47 PM."

"Maybe I should sleep.." he said to himself.

"I do believe that is a good idea, father."

Father glanced over his shoulder to me, smiling half-way. He seemed somewhat pleased with that response, or perhaps more accurately: amused by it.

"To think I'd have to be told by my own son to go to bed."

"You _are_ rather stubborn."

Father burst into laughter. It was a curious response. He walked back over to me and gave me one last hug, rubbing the top of my head with his third arm.

"Good night, you cheeky little rascal," he said, merrily.

I hadn't known what that meant, but I quite liked the sound of it, "Good night."

He reached up and pulled my head down gently, pressing his lips to the top of my head for a brief moment. I beeped. I had never encountered such a thing before. What was it?

"See you in the morning," he pat my shoulder, then turned around and disappeared down the hallway.

I was still clicking and processing everything, suddenly finding myself overwhelmed by a myriad of things I could not understand as I watched him go.

Father had a propensity to become emotional and oddly affectionate when sleepy, and I was still not used to it. I hope I never will. It would be less special, then.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have made the description and title references to Sky Sailing songs (see: 'A Little Opera Goes a Long Way' and 'Take Me Somewhere Nice').


End file.
